


Interlude #2: AU - Riding the Devil

by asmodeusyne



Series: Republic of Infidels - Interludes [3]
Category: Republic of Infidels
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27895561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmodeusyne/pseuds/asmodeusyne
Summary: Please note these characters belong 100 percent to me, so don't screw around with them until publication, after which you can show me tribute with fanfic.Not until.
Series: Republic of Infidels - Interludes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042635





	Interlude #2: AU - Riding the Devil

“You fucking BITCH.”

He was so enraged that the words came out distorted through clenched teeth. His eyes were bulging, spit flying as he roared, chest heaving with the effort of keeping up the tirade. His face and naked chest had flushed red. His white blonde hair, normally sleek and coiffed, was slicked on his sweaty forehead. 

Standing in her underwear and a shirt, Rachel watched him, finding she enjoyed the way his muscles bulged, his core crunched as he struggled against the bonds. It was useless, naturally. She’d bound him hand to foot under the bed, crossways so that the nylon rope went from left foot to right hand, and right foot to left. She’d practiced the knots, and they were holding. The rope was rated for four hundred pounds, and while Sergei might possibly have been the physically strongest man left alive in their sad little world, even he wouldn’t be able to pull free from this trap without dislocating something. 

He stared at her, eyes red and crazed, nostrils flaring. She smiled as she approached the bed, taking one finger and drawing along his ankle. He snarled and reared up, then was jerked back by the rope. 

“I’m going to kill you, Rachel,” he breathed. “I’m going to break your jaw and rape your face while you drown in your own blood.”

“Hmmm,” she said softly. “You won’t be doing it any time soon, my love.”

That pricked him. She didn’t call him things like “my love”. He sat back and glared at her.

“I’m sorry I said that,” he said through clenched teeth. “Untie me.”

“No,” she grinned. “I don’t think so.” 

“What are you trying to prove?” he hissed, pulling vainly at the ropes. His whole body tensed as he fought his bonds, but then relaxed as he gave it up. 

She shrugged. “It was a whim.”

“I changed my mind,” he said. “I am going to kill you. Keeping you alive this long was a mistake.”

She moved to the head of the bed, and looked down at him. “Poor Sergei. You didn’t think this was all going to go one way, did you?”

“Come closer, and I’ll tell you what I think.”

She looked at him, and bent her head just slightly. He spat directly in her face. It wasn’t the first time -- he liked to dominate her that way now and again -- but it was the first time he’d ever done it in anger.

Dignified, she wiped it away, then looked down at his triumphant sneer. 

Then she struck him across the face as hard as she could manage, closing her first at the last second. His thick neck turned and he cried out as her sharp knuckles cracked across his cheekbone. When he looked back at her, it was with absolute astonishment. A tiny trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. 

“That’s better,” she murmured, massaging her knuckles. Before he could regain his wits, she caught the little blood from the corner of his mouth on her fingertip, and licked it. 

His expression subsided into a confused pout. The rage was still there, but he was baffled by this sudden, abrupt change in their dynamic.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“If you really want to know,” she said softly. “I thought you were taking things for granted. I don’t want you to forget who I am.”

His mouth twisted into the sneer again. “And who is that? An angry little girl who wants to play at torture? I’ll show you torture, Rakhila.”

“Now that’s unfair,” she said, pouting a little herself, now. “Don’t you remember what you told me all those months ago, when you said you loved me? Don’t you remember telling me why?”

There was a little hitch in his breath, and she saw it in his massive, muscled chest as he tried to recall words spoken in the depths of those early moment. 

“You let me cut you,” she said, indicating the twisted scar that crossed his face from chin to cheekbone. 

“I let you,” he said. “I gave you the knife. I wanted you to.”

“But you don’t want me to enjoy myself like this.”

He arched a brow. “If it gives you pleasure. It will be the last time, princess. Be sure of that.”

There was conviction in his face. She really believed that if she freed him now, he’d give in to his rage. It sent a thrill through her, knowing that she had him here, Sergei at his most pure, his most undiluted self. The chaos that he restrained for her and her alone was here on display. 

She didn’t delude herself. He could escape from this rig, with time and effort. He was strong enough to break the bed apart, if he got the angle right. If she didn’t do something to temper him, he’d find a way. 

His dark blue eyes, opaque as they always were when he was enraged, followed her warily as she laid a light hand on his flank. She made a small sound of appreciation as she felt the little ripples of his oblique muscles, even as he shifted away from her, shying like a high strung horse. 

She tsked at him, letting her hand ride over his ribs. “Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you?”

He said nothing, only watched her suspiciously, eyes flicking down to her hand. She moved her hand down, finding the dips and bulges of his seemingly endless row of abdominal muscles. She loved them, every one of them, loved watching them contract when he fucked her. She thought that sex might be the evolutionary purpose of those particular muscles, seeing that they were so much more prominent in male morphology. She had wanted to share that thought with him, but those weren’t the kind of discussions they had. 

She placed both hands on his abs as she straddled him, and devoured him with her eyes. He was physiologically perfect, a thicker, broader version of Geef’s Lucifer. She lay her hands on his chest, and he couldn’t stop himself from drawing in a sharp breath. His eyes watched her, apprehensive, uncertain. 

“I want you to remember this feeling,” she told him. “Every time you take me for granted. I know you, I know you don’t retain insight if it doesn’t interest you. But you’ll remember this.”

“Oh, you,” he breathed. “Are so right about that.”

He was trying to keep his knees together, to keep her from accessing his cock, but the bulging muscles of his thighs made it impossible. It pleased her that he wasn’t aroused, the way it pleased him when she was unprepared, when he wanted it to feel like he was taking something from her. He was dismayed by the reversal, completely out of his ken, and a glimmer of fear appeared in his face. It turned instantly to deep hatred, absolute murderous fury. 

“Do you think you can do this to me?” he demanded. “Take me against my will? You’re just a woman. Just a little girl playing pretend.”

“But you love me,” she pouted, using a sickly sweet baby voice. “So you’re always telling me. Doesn’t that mean you should give me whatever I want?”

“Untie me,” he said again. “I’ll give you what you want.”

“I want this,” she said, balancing on him, grinding against his abs like a cat in heat. “I could torture you. I mean really. I could do all kind of things to you that would leave you intact. I could cripple you, paralyze you, and make your cock hard with a stun gun whenever I wanted to use you. You haven’t imagined a fraction of the things that I could show you.”

“Why?” he demanded, pulling up on the ropes, arching up to get as close to her as he could. “Rachel.”

She leaned in, keeping out of range of his teeth, but giving him a full view of her face. She felt his gaze, imagined herself as he saw her, the emptiness in her eyes, the total indulgence of her own particular void. 

“You’re afraid of me,” she informed him. “Afraid because you let me this close. Even though you knew better than I did my capacity for cruelty. You thought because I let you dominate me that you control me. You will never control me. I forgot more about the inflicting of suffering than you ever knew. Down to the the last nerve. Down the molecular level.” 

She reached down between her own legs and slid her hand around his cock. He was semi-hard, in spite of his agitation, his body so familiar with her touch that it responded even though he wanted to deny her. He gasped, fell back as she worked him, as she stroked him with her practiced hand. 

His brows furrowed as his eyes closed, his mouth parting in a perfect expression of involuntary reaction. When he tilted his head back, and uttered an oath in Russian, she knew she had him. 

She pressed his now thick, hard cock against his belly, and drew her cunt, covered by soaked panties, up the shaft. He moaned, tensing through his core, giving in to the need. 

“Rakhila…”

She tore off her panties rather than dismount from him to take them off, then pulled his cock towards her, teasing her own cunt with the head. He let out a growl of frustration, unable to reach for her, unable to penetrate her without her compliance. 

“Please, Rakhila,” he begged in Russian. “Cripple me. Cut me. I don’t care.”

She acted like she was considering it. “Hmm.” 

“Please,” he choked, almost sobbed. “Please take me. Use me. Kill me. Anything.”

“No,” she said it lovingly. “Not that, Sergei.” 

She sank down on his cock, giving full voice to her own moan it penetrated her, the thick end pushing up into her cervix the way it always did, the way that could make her bleed when he fucked her hard enough. 

The flush that illuminated his hard features darkened as he groaned like a dying man. His eyes went dark as he watched her slide up and down on him, leaning back so as to give him a full view. He did not move with her, but allowed her to ride him, remaining passive and receptive in a way that he never was under normal circumstances, and likely would never be once she let him loose. 

“You were right about me,” she told him. “Right about everything. You should have cornered me when we were teenagers and set me straight. You should have fucked me the first chance you got. Because nothing cures me the way you do. Nothing halts the pain of my mind like your cock.”

“Rachel,” he moaned, curling his fists in the ropes and pulling them taut. “Let me touch you.”

“Soon,” she promised, and picked up the pace. “When I lose all sense. When I don’t care if you hurt me.” 

“I would never hurt you,” he breathed. 

“Liar,” she whispered, then arched back, stroking her own clit. She knew she could come any time, but she wanted to draw it out. She watched him as he watched her, his expression open with absolute desperation, unconcealed, uncontrolled desire. Perfect surrender.

She couldn’t resist for long, and in an instant, she was coming in thick, wet waves, her body clenching and spasming, making her feel like her lower half was filled with hard lead as her kegels crunched around his cock.

In a mindless haze, she reached under the mattress and pulled out his bowie knife, the superlatively large weapon he preferred when killing in close quarters. His eyes followed it, but they were dim with submissive indifference. She cut the ropes and then tossed it away before the strength in her legs failed her. He caught her as she sprawled forward, slid his hand around the back of her neck and thrust up into her, his breath hot against her ear. 

“Rachel. Rakhila. My darling one, my succubus. Don’t you know I worship you? Don’t you know I’d give you my life if you asked? I’d feed you my own heart.”

“Liar,” she said again, then cried out as a second orgasm ripped through her. Sergei reared up, holding her by the small of her back as he bounced on her on his cock, his face buried in her breasts, mouth on her sternum. A deep sound rumbled through him as his whole body went taut. He fell back as he came, holding her tightly to him as he emptied into her. 

They lay breathing together in the silence, the charged air slowly dissipating. She lay her head on his chest, listening to his heart thump frantically, then slow to its normal rate.

His long, strong fingers stroked through her hair. “I’m still going to kill you.”

“But not today,” she murmured. 

Tightening his fingers in her hair, he pulled her up for one of those mouth-raping kisses, tongue pressing back into her throat like he was going to suffocate her. She gasped when he released her from it. 

“No, not today, Rakhila.” 


End file.
